


An Excess of Fowl

by RedHorse



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas Carols, Fluff, Holidays, M/M, Same Age, they’re 12, time line mashup, tweens in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:02:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21753439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedHorse/pseuds/RedHorse
Summary: Tom decides to court Harry the Muggle way.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle
Comments: 20
Kudos: 303





	An Excess of Fowl

**Author's Note:**

> Posted last year to tumblr, now shared here after a beta by the lovely Miraculous. ❤️❤️❤️

December 20, 1992

“You look worn out, Harry,” Ron observed, a worried furrow in his brow. “Up late again?”

“Well, yeah,” Harry admitted. “Hagrid helped me, but it took a while to get the swans to settle down. They’re kind of aggressive, you know?” Ron’s blank expression communicated that in fact he  _ didn’t  _ know. “Anyway,” Harry sighed, “they were rather hostile toward the other birds.”

“That’s how many now? Birds, that is?”

“I don’t know. Thirty-odd? A whole bloody lot.”

The two Gryffindors walked on. Behind them, unobserved, Tom Riddle dropped his concealment charm and rounded on the blond-haired boy beside him with a dangerous gleam in his eyes.

“He doesn’t seem excited, does he, Malfoy?”

Draco winced, trying to stand up straight despite an overwhelming urge to cower. “No, my lord, he doesn’t seem excited.”

“He almost seems confused,” Tom snarled.

“Yes, well, my lord, he was raised by Muggles? But perhaps he doesn’t...that is…” Tom continued to stare expectantly, which did nothing for Draco’s composure. “Perhaps he doesn’t know the  _ old _ Muggle customs?”

“Hmm,” Tom murmured. “Well, perhaps we can arrange for him to discover their meaning. And the other...issue?”

“My father sent me the gold,” Draco confirmed, eager to share good news. “Enough for the next few days,” he added with more caution. Tom had figured out how to summon or conjure the animals and people, but even he couldn’t manufacture gold. “Technically that’s my maximum allowance until I turn fifteen…” he observed Tom’s eyes narrowing further still and added hastily, “But my mother can’t tell me no. I’ll write to her!”

“Very good, Malfoy,” muttered Tom, looking helplessly back at the retreating figure of Harry and his idiot friend. “See that you do.”

December 21, 1992

At breakfast, everyone braced themselves for the daily flurry of fowl at the Gryffindor table. Harry kept his shoulders hunched and guiltily avoided his housemates’ eyes. When the clock struck eight, chaos erupted all around Harry in the form of twelve noisy birds, one cooing uncertainty from its perch in a small potted tree, and the quiet lowing of—cattle?

Harry’s eyes grew wide and he spun around on the bench, seeing through a cloud of feathers that eight cows stood chewing their cud in a perfect row, and crouched beneath each one, a woman in plaid busily milked away into her respective wooden pail.

“What the bloody...?” cried Seamus Finnegan. The maids glanced over then returned to their work, all save one, who rose from her stool and walked over to Harry.

“Are you Harry?”

At his dumbfounded nod, she held out five golden rings. “Swell. Then these are for you.”

Beside him on the bench, Hermione made a startled noise. “Of  _ course _ . How did it take me this long to figure it out?”

“What?” Harry demanded, stuffing the rings in his pocket. Hopefully they were worth enough for animal feed. Cows probably ate a lot more than birds.

“It’s the Twelve Days Of Christmas!” Hermione exclaimed. “Oh, Harry, I thought it was all terrible, but in fact it’s quite sweet.”

December 25, 1992

Harry woke on Christmas morning feeling happier than he had on any Christmas morning previous. Not only was he at Hogwarts, rather than the Dursleys’, but the Great Hall, rather than practically abandoned, was full of cheerful faces.

“Harry!” chorused the dancing ladies, who had taken a break from their exercise to sip pumpkin juice, and now waved at him. He waved back.

The maids had left their cattle grazing on the lawn and were playing some kind of dice game, taking up the entire Ravenclaw table. The pipers had spontaneously composed a gentle Christmas-carol mashup and the lords were, predictably, taking turns bounding over the Hufflepuff table, to the delight of a few second years who were clapping heartily between bites of cauldron cake.

“Potter,” said a terse voice to Harry’s left, and he turned his head to find himself looking into the pinched face of Draco Malfoy, who appeared especially unpleasant considering it was Christmas Day.

“What is it, Malfoy?” Harry snapped, then sighed. He wasn’t willing to let even Malfoy spoil his magnanimous mood. “I mean...Merry Christmas, I guess.”

Malfoy looked suspicious, but nodded cautiously. “Whatever, Potter. I just...haven’t you figured it out yet?” His tone was almost pleading.

“What?” Harry asked, lost.

Malfoy gestured emphatically around the Great Hall. “ _ This _ . The people. The cows. All of the...fowl.”

“Oh, yes,” Harry nodded, smiling ruefully. “It’s a Muggle song. Someone must have used magic to make it do...well. All of this. Hermione said the magic would be really impressive.”

Draco’s expression could have been carved from wood. “Did she?”

“Yeah. I guess the birds are one thing, but the people?”

“Hmmm,” Draco hummed tonelessly. It wasn’t exactly a response, but Harry happily went on anyway.

“Yeah, I reckon they don’t even know how they got here, but they’re all quite...happy, about it?”

“Are they?” Now Malfoy sounded half strangled, and Harry was concerned.

“Are you all right, Malfoy? You seem unwell.”

“Tom! Riddle!” Draco burst out sharply, in the manner of one having a fit. Harry stepped back from him.

“What about Riddle?”

“He did it, all of this. He did it with his terrifying magic.” Draco swallowed and became even paler than usual. “Don’t tell him I told you, please. But also, for all our sakes, thank him. Heartily.”

Harry stared. “Why would he…?”

Draco’s lip curled. “Oh, Potter. Do you even know the words to the stupid song?”

“Yes?”

When Draco continued to stare, unwavering, Harry frowned. “On the first day of Christmas,” he began, reciting not singing, “my true...oh.” He blinked, then scoffed. “But he couldn't...I mean…not  _ Riddle.” _

_ “ _ Have a very pleasant Yule, Potter,” Draco said wearily, and left the Hall.

Harry was still processing when the clock struck eight, and at the eighth peal precisely, the entire room erupted—with fowl, yes, and eight additional cows with their busy maids, and the ear-splitting noise of pipes, and the rigorous tapping of dance shoes, and this time, also, the insistent beating of twelve drums.

“Harry.” Tom was walking up to him with his hands behind his back. 

“Riddle. Tom,” Harry replied faintly. One of the swans viciously snapped at a passing hen, and an overly enthusiastic leaping lord landed amongst the geese, scattering them and treading on a few eggs.

“I may have to kill Malfoy,” Tom muttered. Harry, who knew just enough about Tom Riddle to suspect he meant it, hastened to interject.

“No! I mean, what about Malfoy? I was just, um, enjoying all of the...gifts.”

Tom’s look softened and he scuffed at the tile with his shoes, smile shy. “I suppose you’ve figured out it was me.”

“Yep,” Harry managed, wondering if his voice sounded unnaturally high to Tom.

“There’s these, too,” Tom continued, reaching out an open palm that contained five golden rings. Of course. Harry reached out and Tom placed his hand over Harry’s so they were cupped together, and the rings, warm from Tom’s palm, fell into Harry’s.

“Oh, right,” Harry said, almost whispering. Tom hadn’t moved his hand, and now his fingertips were gently brushing Harry’s wrist, where Harry’s pulse was racing as furiously as a rabbit’s.

“Thanks, Tom,” Harry managed, and a slow, satisfied grin spread over the other boy’s face.

“You’re  _ very _ welcome, Harry.”


End file.
